Chapter I. The bay at night and what had transpired there
The scarlet sun creeps down the horizon, seemingly sinking into the abyssal depth of that purple mass of the water, the sea, silhouetting the rocks and trees of the islands afar, the darkness of night engulf the skies as the sun sunk deeper and deeper, until, alas, the last flicker of twilight was extinguished. It was no wonder that the ancients thought that the sun died daily, only to reborn the next day, to rise into the sky once more to conquer darkness, only to be conquered by that same blackness again as the day ends. The bells, hanging upon the noble and aged oak tree, began, at the urging of playful and gentle Zephyrus, to chime, to sing a sweet, yet melancholy song, as if they were mourning the passing of the warmth sun, and despairing over the beginning of cold, dark, night.
In front of that mighty oak, a throng of bearded, pale faced men in sad coloured silk garment assembled, standing silently and rigidly, so much so that, if it were not for the rising of the chest, one might have assumed that these were corpses, held upright by a pikes. From afar, a small figure was made out, a boat, coming closer and closer. Breaking free from whatever trances that had possessed them; the men began to fall upon their knees, their heads bowed low, when, suddenly, a bright red light shot though from the forest on the cliff, striking the ocean, followed by another, and by hundreds more. To the spectators, it looked like a shower of fire, raining down upon the sea, only ceasing when the little boat caught on fire. Amidst the cries and groans of fear and disbelief, the sounds leaves rustling as these ancient men flee, the ship slowly sailed away, and steering its course away from the shore and into the wide expanses of the sea, sailing about until it reaches hell and the souls aboard shall begin life anew.
The wind blew upon the trees, shaking again the bells, and sounding it once more. On the horizon, the flames of the ship again twinkle, and twinkle no more. On the shore, corpses of several of the aged men stands, their garment dyed to that fearful and hideous shade of crimson that characterise blood, their faces were, for the most part, impassive, but carries, deep within their features, those slight indications of the mortal terror and pain that came before their death, and held onto place by large pikes, piercing their flesh, condemned to forever wait for the ship's return.
